Morph

Chapter 1 : The Purple Flag

I was eight years old, too young to completely understand the concept of death. I was sitting on the window seat of my palace bedroom, looking out at the vast ocean of trees around us. It was a beautiful view. The palace was on top of a huge mountain. Over to the left of the palace was the training station, where warriors in training could practice their battle skills. I wanted to be an archer. But Father said I had to wait until I was twelve, which I thought was completely unfair. So Father gave me a simple bow and some rubber-tipped arrows for my eighth birthday.

Over to the right was a giant lake, where the fishermen in the village were out on their daily fishing trip in their canoes. And finally, right in front of the palace was the kingdom. There were rows upon rows of houses and tents. In the center of the village was the trading center, where people of the village could take their belongings and trade them for food or other necessities. Around the village were the houses. The houses were very dull. They were a light brown color with the occasional blue house here and there, symbolizing a warrior lived there. Very few warriors lived in the village though. Most of them lived in the palace in the warriors wing. But some lived down in the village with their families.

The light brown houses symbolized common folk, which were the people who made just enough money to live by, but were not rich. Then were the tents. The majority of the people in the village lived in tents, which symbolized they were just barely making on. They made very little money, but could still afford a house and feed their young. Over to the far left of the village was a cluster of sleeping bags, which were the poor people. They could not afford houses and could hardly pay for themselves and their families, but they still made it.

So, looking out from my palace window, I could see the whole village, the training station, the lake, the forest, all of it. Except for the forest in the back of the palace that stretched all the way down the other side of the mountain.

Father had taught me stuff warriors are supposed to know. Like the sign colors and their meanings. Red meant enemy troops approaching, yellow meant someone was missing, purple meant the king was severely injured, blue meant someone had died. There would be a number on the sign saying how many were dead on the blue sign. And green meant our troops were returning. Red was rare, yellow was rare, purple was only ever shown three times in history, blue happened often because of everyone who had died trying to find the Waterfall of Immortality, green was not often because most of the troops returning were from the Waterfall of Immortality and were half dead. Father had told me to run to his chamber and get him if one of the flags were to pop up. I had only had to do it once, and that was when the king had gone missing just a few days before.

But that afternoon, something really rare happened. A purple flag appeared out of a cluster of trees close to the palace gates.

I bolted down the stairs, running into Father on the way to his chamber.

"What is it my little dove? Is something wrong?" He asked, concerned.

"It's, it's Uncle." I took a deep breath,"There was a purple flag."

At this Father turned back the way he had come, tearing down the stairs as if they were air, with me at his heels.

"Where was the flag?" He demanded.

"Oak Grove."

"Oh no, oh no, oh no." He mumbled to himself.

"Father, what's wrong?"

"Nothing dear. Go back to your chamber."

And with that he left, grabbing three warriors, two servants, and a nurse to go with him. I didn't quite understand why he needed that many people to go with him, even if Uncle was hurt.

Doesn't he need only nurses? They would be the most useful in this situation! I thought. But I suppose whatever hurt Uncle could be pursuing him, getting closer to the palace, that's why he needs the warriors. But the servants were supposed to get people who had got bitten by elves. Why would he need them now. Surely Uncle wouldn't be that stupid!

Instead of listening to Father's orders, I went to the window and watched the group go towards where I had seen the purple flag rise.

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An hour. That's how long it had been sense Father had left. I was beginning to worry about what might have happened to them, when I saw a human figure stumble out of the trees. It was Father. Behind him, the servants came out of the gloom, carrying Uncle Darlo's broken body with them. Then the nurse came, her face scrunched up with concern. Then one warrior came out, limping as he dragged his left leg behind him. I saw Father signal to them to follow, and they made their way over to the palace.

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When they got to the gates, I saw one of the warriors at the gates ask something I couldn't quite make out, and I saw Father nod. The warriors at the gates instantly turned towards the forest, bows aimed asif there was some unseen enemy approaching.

The group made their way into the palace, and I hid underneath a bench, so as not to be seen.

"Are you sure?" Father asked, his voice filled with concern.

The nurse nodded and signaled for the others to come in.

The warrior came in, looking troubled.

"Go warn the others of the attack. Then Polly can see to that leg of yours." Father instructed.

The warrior gave a slight nod and hobbled as fast as he could to the warriors wing.

Then the servants came inside, looking rather shook. But when I saw what a hag of a creature they were carrying, I almost screamed. My hand flew to my mouth as I stared in horror at what had used to be Uncle Darlo.

His face was beaded with sweat and he looked like he had a raging fever. His clothes were torn, and I could see many deep wounds, that looked like bite marks, all over his body. Most of them were fizzing with green poison bubbles that looked very deadly. His face was torn, jagged scratches made on his forehead and left cheek. His lips had turned a shade of deep blue, and his fingers weren't much better. He looked as though he had been dropped in ashes and was left there for a thousand years. His nose was bent at an odd angle, so I assumed it was broken. One of the fingers on his right hand had been completely torn off, leaving a stub of bone and a steady flow of blood. The wound hadn't closed and was infected pretty badly. His hair was falling out in clumps, and three of his toenails had been ripped off, revealing the gross, inflamed, skin underneath. His eyes had lost their light, and his expression was nothing but agony. Overall, he looked as if he had gone to hell and back.

As they took his body away into the hospital chamber, I curled up and wept. Half out of fear, and half out of the pain of Uncle's loss. If something could do that to a king that had been trained all his life for battle, what chance did Gladeride have against it?